


his fellow man

by smithens



Series: en l'année 1830 [2]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 19th Century Europe, 19th Century Medicine, Canon Era, Gen, Injury Recovery, July Revolution, One Shot, References to Illness, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8355109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Feuilly inspires Enjolras.Enjolras worries Combeferre.Joly observes them all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crimsondust (bloodmoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=crimsondust+%28bloodmoon%29).



> this was to fill a tumblr prompt from aflamethatneverdies/crimsondust, for "Caring for one another while ill" in an acts of intimacy meme. title is from St. Stephens Cross by Vienna Teng but that song itself has little/no relation to the fic (except that I listened to it while finishing it)

“That crime of 1772, perpetrated by three states but in collusion with greater Europe, that suppression of peoples and theft of freedoms, must be recalled with outrage. You have heard me speak; you know that I recall it so. Progress was drenched in ‘72  and extinguished in ‘93 and ‘95 - but, Enjolras, it was not _exterminated_ then. The people of Poland and Lithuania had a will, it was expressed in the defense of their constitution in ‘92, through war and uprising, and it is expressed even to-day in the sons of those valiant citizens. We fought beside these sons last month in pursuit of justice, Enjolras, in fraternity, and this fraternity will not conclude in the year 1830, for it continues on in the bonds of men seeking justice, liberty, equality; and not until what is sought is gained may those bonds weaken. Yet, the gaining of such rights will strengthen alliances; together, we of all nations may bring about our own deliverance. Russia may have partitioned the territory, but they did not partition the people. So it is the same across the continent. A betrayal in France repeats a betrayal in Lithuania; a rebellion in Lombardy revives an uprising in Poland…”

There was not one man in their society, Joly knew, who had not heard Feuilly speak on the topic of the partitions. No other subject evinced his dedication and enthusiasm in such a way; as such, it was very simple to bring him into a discussion by even mentioning the matter. Joly himself did not think that he had a passion such as Feuilly did - or, at least not one which he knew so intricately, and entirely from his own initiative.

At times it made him a little envious. It was very well to know medicine, but his friends - such as Feuilly, Enjolras, or Combeferre - possessed talents and knowledge that seemed a little less scientific, and a little more human, that they could speak of at great length and still inspire men around them to listen.

Of course, at times, if Feuilly went on long enough,  Joly had regrettably more than once thought that the actions of nations such as Austria and Prussia a half-century ago were a little old and a little hard to understand, and he did not know their victims so intimately as to swear to their ideals for them more for than his fellow citizens of France. The monologue could be tiring, and it was hard to be inspired when one was already exhausted from rounds and lectures and laboratories, and really just wanted to sit down with his more jovial friends and some wine for the evening.

But for Enjolras, lying supine on Combeferre’s bed with his head and shoulders resting against a pillow - _how lucky that Feuilly managed to keep him there_ , thought Joly, for Combeferre had been quite adamant regarding Enjolras’s rest - ‘inspired’ was an understatement. Bedridden, Enjolras was not so imposing as standing, but his thoughtful, focused gaze and sincere expression induced in Joly at once a great feeling of fondness, and a peculiar feeling of deference.  He was focused on Feuilly entirely, serious and even serene, and - in a way which only he could be - enraptured. At pointed times, he would give a little nod, or slowly open and close eyes, and Feuilly’s voice rose and fell in a correlating manner.

The conversation, then, was one-sided only in its volume.

Feuilly went on - he was not incensed, as he sometimes could be, nor was he sad. His voice thrummed with intensity; he spoke with more hope in five minutes than Joly had heard from their other friends combined in a week.

For how long, he wondered, had his two friends been engaged in this way?

...indeed, it felt very much like an intrusion to hide in the next room to listen, particularly for so long, but neither of them had spotted him yet.

“...nonetheless, there is progress - ‘70 in Peloponnesus has not been forgotten, Enjolras,” Feuilly murmured, so quietly that Joly had to lean forward a little, resting his head against the doorframe, to listen. “Neither will be ‘30 in Paris, and in the future...”

And as he stood still in the doorway of Combeferre’s bedchamber, watching as Feuilly spoke softly and fervently of the ideals of their suppressed revolution and its similarities to history and atrocities across the continent, the similarities to their barricade and their fervor two weeks ago, he regretted at once all of his past frustrations with the matter.

Joly wrapped his hand around the strap of his satchel, running his hand up and down the leather with a loose grip, a relaxing gesture, but although he was already guilty of eavesdropping, he felt somehow as though his shoes were nailed to the floor: he could not move otherwise but to listen.

“...what we seek as republicans, those ideals which we mean to embody and put into place - we must give to that future. As citizens of a nation, our duty is, yes, to our fellow _countrymen_ , but not only that, for our fellow _men_...”

Feuilly spoke louder, now, and Enjolras hoisted himself up by his elbows - his lips moved, and Feuilly went silent, but whatever he said was not audible enough to be heard across the room. Where earlier he was pallid, now he was glowing; where he was still, now he was inspirited - but he oughtn’t, Joly recalled suddenly, become too excited.

And that was why he had entered the flat to begin with. He opened his mouth to announce his presence, but then could not actually bring himself to interrupt, for now they really were conversing, and -

He shifted side to side on his feet, inched just into the room past the door, tilting his head to better see Enjolras from paces away.

Somehow, this tiny motion was conspicuous: Enjolras held up a hand to Feuilly, leaned around his chair to meet Joly’s gaze, and smiled.

“...that is true, and I concur - we are lucky to call ourselves her citizens, Enjolras, but in Greece, and too in Romania, there is no - hm?”

Feuilly, who with his back turned had not noticed Joly’s presence until Enjolras raised his hand to halt him, quieted, and then turned around in his seat. “Good day, Jolllly,” he said, smiling a little sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink, and Joly figured this was enough of an invitation to truly enter the room.

“You ought to announce yourself in the future, Citizen, and join us,” Enjolras said. He stretched for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest and twisting his torso slightly, before shifting enough to sit further upright. “It is better to listen to Feuilly when one is near enough to find him audible.”

So, thankfully, he had not been noticed until just then. At loss for words, Joly shrugged his shoulders, approached them both, and set his bag beside Enjolras’s legs on top of the linens.

“There wasn’t any reason to interject,” he said, gingerly removing from his bag his stethoscope and a clean swathe of gauze, then beginning to arrange his supplies, “or, not while you were remaining still without protest, at least?”

He tried to smile as he said so, but the remark earned him a cool stare. Now that his fever was broken, and had remained so for two nights, Enjolras seemed particularly frustrated with his remaining frailty: even a mere few hours of extra rest in the daytime resulted in a lingering irritable disposition.

And, well - Joly supposed that was understandable, in a way, if one was not used to thinking he was incapable of this and that or had contracted something or other, evidenced of course by a newfound peculiar symptom, and therefore could certainly not go to his lecture or laboratory.

(He and Enjolras were not always so alike.)

Nonetheless, Enjolras did need his rest, and after performing a dedicated examination of his torso and observed several inconvenient fits of his coughing, Combeferre had hypothesized that the infection ailed his lungs, also, in spite of his progress in recovery. Being obliged to attend his internship when the tumult in the streets had subsided, he left Joly with a list of tasks - and if he was perhaps more concerned than he ought to have been rationally, well, Joly himself could not judge him for it in good conscience.

Enjolras was still weary, after all. Caution would not hurt.

“I am meant to examine you, anyhow, still or no.” Joly held up the assembled stethoscope - to this Enjolras nodded curtly, parting the placket of his nightshirt - and then he set about with the auscultation, as they had developed a routine for the act.

Feuilly watched silently from his chair, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands.

Joly placed the end of the cylinder to the base of Enjolras’s neck, pressed his ear to the piece, and tried very hard not to make eye contact with Feuilly, who looked almost comically curious.

Just as the day before, Enjolras’s breaths came clear and typical. He listened intently - the structure was not perfect, even if its use gave him a privilege which his forebears did not have - noting the rate, and the quality, for the procedure ought to be thorough even if it was a little strange to perform it on Enjolras. Of course, that Joly was now, with modern developments, capable of hearing the inner processes of a man’s chest without his ear flush to the skin never ceased to amaze him regardless; if his patient were not his slightly frustrated friend, or especially frustrated leader, he would devote much more time to the procedure given his dedication to performing it.

But, that was not the case, and though he had worried a little the day before about carelessness in his counting or in his site placement, Joly was now at least confident enough in his competence to form judgments as to Enjolras’s condition.

With utmost care, he brought the stethoscope to the other side of Enjolras’s torso, listening intently.

After a few moments, he again lifted his head.

“Feuilly,” he said, carefully avoiding Enjolras’s rather long-suffering expression, “you weren’t speaking for long, were you? And, have you given him anything more since this morning? Laudanum? Brandy?”

“I thought that I hadn’t requested anything more,” Enjolras said icily.

Joly decided that the situation justified a blasé attitude, for once, if he himself could bear to have one. “You had not,” he said brightly, “but I asked Feuilly.”

“Laudanum a little more than an hour ago, and it oughtn’t have worn off by now,” Feuilly said, matching Joly’s own tone, albeit with a curt shake of his head. “We spoke for a little while, but we ate together, and he has rested well. You needn’t worry.”

To his credit, Enjolras said nothing, but he did lean his head backward and sigh.

Were Enjolras ever worthy of pity, Joly likely could have found it in him at that moment to give it. He looked to Feuilly - now intently looking at the medical equipment laid open on the bed - and then back to Enjolras, who met his eye and then turned toward the window.

And, taking this opportunity, Joly set about with continuing the auscultation. He pulled back the fabric of Enjolras’s chemise again, brushing his fingertips along the bare skin by accident, placed the stethoscope, and willed himself to believe he was at rounds, or in a laboratory, not in a familiar bedchamber attending to a close friend.

Somehow he managed to fall into the routine, to focus on the sounds of Enjolras’s lungs and heart. He counted the seconds in a murmur, moved when he needed to.

After completing what he could of the chest examination without disturbing Enjolras further, Joly settled back to dismantle and store his stethoscope.

“So?” said Feuilly, after watching Joly untwist and replace the pieces of the instrument for a minute or two.

“So,” Joly started to say, and then he decided to sit at Enjolras’s feet rather than move away. “So. Ah. Well, ordinarily, I would listen to your back, as well, as that is - it is the most current practice, I think, but I should guess that Combeferre is...”

“Yes?” said Enjolras, turning back again and fixing Joly with a blue-eyed stare.

“He is very paranoid. You have no infection of the lungs.”

For a moment, everyone was silent.

Enjolras broke it with a very pointed exhale.

“I knew that.”

“And now I do, also, so I promise you I shall speak to him about it -”

“I should prefer that he speak with me, Joly, though I am thankful for your offer.”

“Enjolras,” murmured Feuilly, and they shared a look between them that made Joly feel as he had minutes ago: like an intruder, or at the very least, a hidden observer. He suspected that Feuilly had not been entirely truthful about the length of their conversation; it was, of course, not his concern, when Enjolras was not so ill as he’d thought that morning, but…

Well, that brought Combeferre into it, and that was even less comfortable to think about.

Pushing the thoughts from his head, Joly stood, and continued to put his pieces back into his satchel. He left the bandages out, pushing them up toward Enjolras as he closed his bag.

“I shall urge him to talk to you, then, Enjolras. I do not wish to impede your communication.”

A pause.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said quietly, and Joly felt a sudden surge of affectionate feeling in reaction. He pressed his hand to Enjolras’s knee, and tried to speak to Feuilly and Enjolras both.

“I have to be going. I’ll come across him, I am sure, this afternoon.”

“I’m grateful,” murmured Enjolras, and though his volume was even softer, Joly noted that he seemed now more emphatic.

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, then stepped away from his two friends. “Oh - and, Feuilly - I heard from Courfeyrac that -”

Feuilly sat up straighter and grinned widely. Joly faltered.

“I heard the same. I hope to be back in the workshop by Wednesday. Until then...”

“You can tell Enjolras about - Lombardy, and whatnot?”

“I request it,” Enjolras cut in, and almost immediately Feuilly responded with a warm laugh.

“I offer it. I think that - ah, what was I -”

“About citizenship.”

“Yes! In any case - it is integral to our work that we recall our fortune in calling ourselves men of a nation, that we are citizens, as you say, and that our country bonds us to one another better than blood. Men of Italy do not have this right, nor women in Romania, nor children in Poland...”

Enjolras beamed.

With a smile of his own, Joly took his leave.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is kind of long, and sometimes ao3 gets silly when I cut & paste.
> 
> if you see any formatting errors or typos please message me at @smithensy on tumblr (or leave a comment)
> 
> thank you for reading!


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